


The Storm

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time has come for Briar to take the throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Worked super hard on this one and am guite happy with how it turned out, even if it did give me crazy hard feels! I will warn you right now that this gets violent and dark, so if you don't like that, don't chew me out in the comments.  
> Hope you guys enjoy!

The afternoon was quiet and calm, much like countless others in the long summer.  The clear sky allowed for more slits of sunlight to filter through the canopy than usual.  One would think this might be considered a good thing, and normally it was, for it created deeper shadows for the Dark Forest inhabitants to creep within, but for two young goblins huddled together in an alcove of the royal castle, such shadows were menacing demons, whispering doubts of their plan’s success.

What a pair they made: a squat, horned female with wiry, red hair, and a winged, towering, male who resembled a cross between a stick bug and a cluster of fossilized leaves.  

“I don’t like this.”  Griselda said with a tremor in her voice, clinging to her prince’s legs and resting her head against the top of his hip.  With her shorter stature, it was as high as she could reach.

“It ‘as tah be done.”  Briar replied, gently carding his claws through her hair while gazing out the open window, across from the alcove; silently formulating his strategy.

“He won’t let go without a fight.”

“I’m well aware o’ tha’.”  He looked down at her with a playfully quirked eyebrow.  “Have ye no faith in yer future king?”

She smacked his thorax. 

“Don’t be a smartass!  This is _serious_!”

“…I know.”  His eyes returned to the window. 

“…”

“…”

“…What if he-?”

“He _worn’t_.”  Briar stated with iron conviction, meeting her anxious gaze once more.  "I worn’t let ‘im.  By this time tahmarrah, ye _will_ be the Briar Queen.  I _swear_ it.”

“I don’t care about being queen, dammit!  I care about _you_!”

“…”

“…”

“…Yer ridiculous.”  He muttered, bending down to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“And you love me anyway.”

“…Aye.”

She cupped his face in her hands and brought his thin lips to her own.  He stiffened slightly at the quick contact, making her smile; even after all this time, he still was surprised by her affection. 

“Wha’ was tha’ fer?”  He asked once they parted.

“For good luck.”

“Tch.”  He scoffed turning his head away.  “I dorn’t believe in luck.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…Besides, if ye really wanna protect me with some foolish, superstitious ritual,” he leaned back in with a rare, roguish smirk, “ye better gimme more than jus’ one wee peck.”

“You are such a cad!” Griselda exclaimed, shoving his chest.  “How can you joke so much at a time like this?!”

“Survival, lass.”

Briar peeked his head around the corner just in time to see four massive goblin guards exit the throne room and head off left down the hall, leaving their master inside with his usual desired hour of complete solitude before addressing the public. 

“It’s time; stay _here_.”  He said, gripping her arms firmly.  “No matter _what_ 'appens, stay outta sight.”

“But-”

“Promise me!”

“I…” Griselda searched his eyes, but ultimately heaved a reluctant sigh, “…a-alright...I promise…just _please_ ……be _careful_ , darling.”

He didn’t answer her, but simply brushed a single claw over her cheek as he stepped away and stalked towards his destination, gripping the staff in his hand tightly.  Save for a few sparse torches, the short, winding corridor that led to the throne room was bathed in a thick darkness which amazingly, gave Briar a bolt of confidence.  He felt like a true predator about to spring upon unsuspecting prey.  Today would mark the end of his torment.

When he finally entered the main part of the grand, open room, he was impressed with how silent everything seemed all at once.  There was no sound but his own beating heart and steady breathing as he crossed the space to stand in the center before the dias steps. 

His eyes had latched onto his father’s pale form the second it came into view, and hadn’t so much as blinked since.  He kept his expression neutral, but deadly determined.  When the king’s head slowly rose to face his only son, Briar had to force back a scowl.

How Briar _hated_ that face.  Not only for its cruelty and hideousness, but for its familiarity.  He’d seen that face countless times in the mirror.  He’d inherited every scale and line from that sharp, thin, heartless face.  He wanted to hurt that face; rip it to thousands of irreparable shreds.  Focusing on the slight differences was all he could do to keep from going insane. 

Like the eyes. 

His eyes were aquamarine, just like the stone; hard and reminiscent of glaciers as old as time, but still glittering and soothing to a degree.  The only feature that could ever be considered even halfway beautiful on his repulsive body.   

The monster’s eyes were green; like acid.  Harsh, burning, sadistic, and surrounded by coal black lids. 

Briar’s armored body was a deep shade of brown, like a cockroach.  Not flattering, but worlds better than the alternative he might’ve received.

The monster’s body was an ashy, greyish white.  For years, it made him look like a ghost; an evil, immortal spirit that would forever torture him.  Now, Briar had to force himself to think that it made him look old; to rally him that victory was within his sights.  

No more losing.

This time, he would win. 

He _had_ to.

“Wha’ do ye want?”  The Thunder King spoke in a raspy voice, saturated with bored disdain.  “I’ bettar be importan’, boy.”

“I’ tis.”  Briar replied evenly.  “I’ve come tah take thah throne.”

“Heh, is tha’ _so_?”  His father inspected the amber jewel in his staff without a care in the world.

“Aye, i’ tis so.  Ye 'ave two choices, ol' man: hand over tha’ scepter an’ leave, or stand up an’ fight me.”

“Go’ yer useless self a mate, did ye?”

“None o’ yer damn business.”

“Well,” his father grinned as he stood, ever eager for blood, “since I ‘ave no intention o’ givin’ mah kingdom tah a worthless runt, an’ I’m _always_ up fer _beatin’_ more sense intah ye, let’s jus’ _see_ wha’ ye _think_ ye can do!”

As always, Thunder took the offensive, and shot towards Briar like a rattler.  The expectation of the move made it easy for Briar to dodge.  He heard his father’s wings rattle behind him as he quickly dashed to the right to put some distance between them, though he did his best to keep his eyes on his opponent at all times.  He faced his father again and brought his staff up to block against a series of swift blows, all the while skirting backwards in random directions; he needed to keep moving. 

Though his staff paled in comparison to the royal scepter, it was thick, and Briar had practiced with it to the point where it felt like a third arm.  The reverberating and equally robust clang of metal on metal encouraged him that his weapon would not fail. 

Seeing an opening, Briar fled to the outer edges of the tree stump floor, which served as their makeshift ring, while his father gave chase.  Thanks to his rigorous training, he was able to bat away more strikes over his shoulder by listening carefully to the sound of the air whooshing in his ears each time his father’s staff came close.

“Hah!”  Thunder chortled when Briar finally turned and went right back to blocking more hits while slowly retreating.  “Even after all this time, especially when it’s supposed tah matter thah most, yer still jus’ doin’ wha' ye do best: runnin’ away like a damn pup!”

But that was _exactly_ what Briar wanted it to look like.  He knew Thunder’s style better than anyone, and he was going to use it against him.  Since they’d begun, his father had yet to touch down.  Thunder always relied on his wings, a normally brilliant advantage when facing all other goblins, but flying required a hefty tax on energy.  That was precisely why Briar was refusing to lift off until it was absolutely necessary.  The sooner his father grounded himself from exhaustion, the better.  However, until then, he’d have to keep on his toes and not make any mistakes. 

A challenge for the throne meant to the death for both parties.  Thunder would have every right to kill Briar to defend his title, but the younger goblin knew his father would want to draw it out; inflict as much pain as possible on him before granting death’s release.  Briar wanted to end this _fast_.

Bearing the thought in mind, he ducked away from Thunder’s staff and, upon hearing the heavier pace of his father’s breath, swung out with his own staff and caught the left side of his jaw.  He back-flipped to safety, momentarily as caught off guard as his father.  In the past, the most damage he’d ever managed was a graze or two, but _that_ was a good, solid hit. 

After a long moment of shocked stillness, the king’s shoulder plates tremored in anger.  Thunder spat a mouthful of blood along with a single worn tooth on the floor, and fixed his son with a murderous glare.

“Ye’ll pay _dearly_ fer tha’.”

Briar shook out of his cathartic high nearly a second too late as his father rushed at him again with a feral growl.  As he brought his staff up to deflect each and every blow, he forced himself not to panic.  This was all part of the plan, his father’s wrath would make him more deadly, but also sloppy.  So, he swallowed down his terrified childhood flashbacks, and focused on protecting himself until he saw another opening.

Easier said than done.  His father was starting to rely less on flight, and was now hovering only a few sparse centimeters above the ground, but the strength behind his hits was intensified, and Briar noticed that he was mostly aiming for his fingers, so he’d drop his weapon, and be vulnerable. 

The familiarity of the underhanded plan, along with the plethora of sinister and excruciating memories that surfaced because of it, began to pour chills down Briar’s limbs, and he felt his legs wobble a bit.

“As usual, yer technique is off.”  Thunder mocked, noticing his son’s new lack of proper stance and balance, before sweeping his right leg out, and kicking Briar’s left ankle out from under him.

Despite the adage that wisdom came with age, and was often associated with brain over brawn, in _this_ case, _Briar_ was stronger _and_ smarter.  Still, though those traits would definitely give him an edge, Briar knew that if he was going to win, he’d have to match and overcome his father’s brutality.  There was no other way.

Now, _he_ took the offensive.

In the thinnest layer of a second, Briar spun before he fell, and flared his wings to catch himself.  Propelling forward, he drove his father to the floor, and pinned him in place: laying his right leg across Thunder’s knees, his left over his right arm to keep the scepter away, and shoving his staff under his chin.

“Ye can’t beat me, boy.”  Thunder arrogantly huffed under the weight.  “Ye ‘avn’t thah _spine_.”

“Ye taugh’ me everythin’ I know abou’ showin’ no mercy.  Trust me, ye putrid fossil, ye _will_ die tahday.”

Thunder’s lips spread into the most sadistic smile Briar thought possible, just before a tremendous, blunt force bashed him on the right cheek, and sent him sprawling.  With both hands on his staff, his right elbow and shoulder had been his only protection against his father’s free left fist, and it hadn’t worked. 

“Oh, I taugh’ ye alrigh’!”  Thunder sneered, immediately getting to his feet, and advancing on his son, who was struggling to get his bearings.  “Ye jus’ nevar learn!  When ye ‘ave yer enemy dead tah rights, dorn’t waste time yakkin’.  Shut yer gob, an’ STRIKE!”

The scepter slashed at Briar before he had time to fully escape. He held back a shout at the piercing sting as a curved embellishment on the amber-end, caught one of his scales, and ripped it clean off.  Briar didn’t need to look.  The warm flow he could already feel sliding down over his right hip was more than enough to let him know he was bleeding badly.  It wasn’t critical, only problematic; with the threat of growing slow from blood loss now hanging over his head, he’d have to finish this soon.  He could not afford to make another similar mistake. 

There was hope though.  Thunder wasn’t flying anymore.

As if on cue to the realization, Thunder sprinted at Briar, and the prince instantly soared into the air to avoid another blow from the staff.  He concentrated on aiming his own staff in downward strikes, swiftly followed by side swipes in an attempt to disarm.  He drifted in a circle over Thunder’s head, and nearly chuckled at the increasingly incensed look on the king’s face as he tried to spread his tired wings to fly again, but could only manage to erratically rise an inch or two for a few precious seconds.

Still, Thunder was as fast on his feet as he was when airborne, so though Briar was able to make a couple of hits connect on his father’s arms and sides, they were nowhere near damaging enough. 

“Yer a disgrace tah thah forest!”  Thunder taunted, sensing Briar’s building frustration.  “Yer nuthin’ bu’ a weak, cowardly, fool!”

Without warning, Thunder jumped straight up with his powerful legs, and kicked Briar square in the chest.

Unfortunately, and much to Briar's chagrin, this would be his greatest challenge if he was going to live through this fight.  Though Thunder was old as sin, he was as _vicious_ as he was the day he killed the goblin king before him.  Briar would have to be like his father: ruthless and _dirty_.

Brushing his palm over his wound, Briar flung a handful of his crimson blood at Thunder’s face.  It made him sick to act so dishonorably, but he had no other option.  When his father recoiled and covered his head with a snarl at his sudden, onset blindness, Briar landed and started repeatedly slapping Thunder’s abdomen with his staff. 

Since he was unable to see, Thunder could do little but back away.  His thick carapace made it tough for Briar to cause any severe injury, but if he just kept on hitting him, it would surely crack.

The notion made him cocky, and with one final jab at Thunder’s less-armored abdomen, he got too close.

“ARGH!  Ye bludy _whelp_!”

_WHAM!_

Stars, swirling, and the feeling of vertigo and throbbing pain in his head as Briar was hurled through the air.  He hit the floor hard, and rolled several feet into the wall.  His stomach lurched with the urge to vomit.

“BRIAR!”

The prince’s heart clenched when he heard the frightened voice.  Fighting nausea, he craned his neck to see Griselda standing on the far side of the throne room.  Her body was in a half-crouched position behind a rock; she must’ve snuck inside and been hiding there this whole time.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit!  Blasted, stubborn female!_

He opened his mouth to yell at her, but all that came out was a dry heave as his vision blurred.  There was an awful ringing in his ears, and to his terror, he found that he couldn’t move.

Thunder paused and looked at Griselda at first with confusion, then wicked amusement once he’d put two and two together.

“So _this_ is yer _intended_?  HA!  Yer even more pathetic than I thought!”  He cackled.  “Did ye really think I’d evar ‘and over mah throne tah yoo an’ some soiled border _tramp_?”

Briar bared his teeth at Thunder with a hiss, and managed to shift to his side.  He’d rip out his tongue for that insult, if he could just get _up_!

“I’m bored with this game.”  The king snorted at his writhing son.  “A _rouge_ challenger deserves tah be thah next king more than yoo.  Now, I’m finally goin’ tah rid myself o’ yer pointless existence.  Maybe I’ll even sire a new heir…bu’ I’ll take yer mate _first_!”

Every organ in Briar’s body turned to ice as he helplessly watched Thunder stalk towards Griselda with an evil laugh. 

“N-NO!”  He coughed, rolling himself onto his belly, but he only managed to rise halfway up on his shaky hands and knees.  The room was spinning, and his brain felt as if it was swelling. 

“GET OUTTA HERE, GRISELDA!”  He frantically demanded, fruitlessly dragging himself in her direction.  “ _RUN_!”

The gobliness broke free from her frozen fear and bolted for the archway, but she’d crept halfway around the room to her hiding spot, and Thunder was between her and the exit. 

“Here, little bitch.”  He cooed, herding her away from both the passage _and_ Briar, who was still trying with all his might to purge the dizziness and get back on his feet. 

She had nowhere to go, and Thunder was closing in.  So, she mentally said a short prayer that Briar would hurry, and did the only thing she could:  when the king’s staff came at her, she ducked her head, and locked her horns with it. 

Thunder certainly hadn’t been expecting _that_ , and he danced around her with an annoyed grunt in a clumsy attempt to dislodge his weapon. 

If his mate’s life wasn’t still in terrible danger, Briar might’ve thought she’d never looked more attractive to him than she did right then; battling against his father like that.  When this was over, he was going to give her a wedding night she’d _never_ forget.

But just as his head ceased to pound, and he managed to stand by bracing his free hand against the wall, his dream was shattered when, with a tremendous heave, Thunder pushed Griselda off-balance, and threw her across the entire length of the throne room.  Briar didn’t even have time to stagger more than a single step.

“ _GRISELDAAAAAAA_!”

There was a horrible snapping sound upon impact with the wall, and her limp body crashed to the floor. 

Everything stopped. 

Briar couldn’t hear anything. 

Not Thunder’s cold jeers, not his tremulous breathing, not even his own pulse. 

Griselda’s form lay crumpled and motionless.  The only light in his world of darkness and agony. 

Numbing shame and sorrow spread through his limbs.

His father was right.

He _was_ a disgrace to the Dark Forest.

 _Worse_ than that, he was a _failure_ as a _goblin_. 

His mate was gone.  Her snarky, defiant quips, her boisterous laughter, her gentle kisses and confident touches; _gone_.  He’d failed to protect her; to do the _one_ job she’d given him the _privilege_ to do.  They would never share a dance.  Now, what was the _point_? 

What did he have left to live for?

.

.

.

Nothing.

.

.

.

…but…

HE’D BE _DAMNED_ IF HE LET THUNDER LIVE ANOTHER _MINUTE_ FOR WHAT HE’D DONE!

Red fogged Briar’s eyes, and he whirled on his father.

“ **YE _BASTAAAAAAAAAARD_**!!!”

Like a rabid animal, he’d lost all semblance of control, and without even thinking, he rushed at Thunder and propelled him into his own throne.  The sickening crunch sound told him he’d run him clean through with his staff. 

Thunder was stunned at not only Briar’s lightning-quick shift in ferocity, but his own fatal wound.  Yet, when he tried to look down at the stab in his chest, Briar seized his jaw with a punishing grip, and slammed his head back up.

“No.”  Briar growled in a deadly tone.  “ _First_ , ye’ll _suffer_.  _Then_ ye’ll _die_.”

The prince tossed the king over his shoulder to the floor with uncanny strength.  Thunder had lost his hold on his staff, but Briar ignored it, and just kept right on walking towards him. 

“I’ll burn this wretched castle o’ yers tah thah ground!” 

His father couldn’t crawl far for the gaping hole in his sternum, but when he lashed out with his claws, that’s when Briar began to hit. 

“I’ll build a larger fortress atop thah ashes, an’ I’ll paint thah walls with yer _blood_!” 

There was no grace nor finesse to his attack; he just blindly beat at any part of Thunder that moved and reveled in the increasing sight of blood and the sounds of scales and shell cracking.

“I’ll cut ye intah a thousand pieces!”

An arm.

A leg.

The torso.

A shoulder.

“I’ll scatter ye tah every corner o’ thah Dark Forest so yer black soul will nevar find rest!” 

The neck.

A wing.

A hip.

Everything.

Soon, his father was a jagged, twitching heap, barely holding together by a few scraps of flesh.

But Briar could still see those _eyes_. 

_This ends now._

“Ye gave me a _lifetime_ o’ _misery_ , now _I’ll_ give ye an _eternity_!”

So, with a final king’s roar of rage, he brought his staff down, and _crushed_ Thunder’s skull beyond recognition. 

At last, the storm was over.

His father was _dead_.  

.

.

.

As Briar glared at the corpse, he felt like anything _but_ the conquering hero that slayed a dragon.  Instead, he was empty and hollow.  Without her, there was no-

“…Mmm…”

!!!

Shock and joy he never believed he could deserve to feel flooded his senses when he heard the tiny moan.  He ran to her and knelt by her side, carefully helping her onto his lap.

“Griselda!  Griselda!”  He breathed, tracing her cheeks with his hands.  “Oh, thank thah _stars_ yer alright!” 

“…Br-…rrriar…?”

“Yes!”  He nodded, combing his claws through her hair.  “Yes, I’m here.  I’m here.”

“Is….h-he…?”

“Without question.”  He stated with pride.  “They’ll 'ave tah scrape 'im up with a shovel.”

“…Good…”

Maybe someday he’d thank her for scaring the living daylights out of him, and giving him enough fury to kill his father, but for now…

“I _told_ ye tah stay outside, ye crazy wench.  Wha’ thah bludy hell were ye _thinkin_ ’?!

“Ah, put a cork in it.”  Griselda said dismissively, sitting up fully with his aid, and rubbing her temple.  “I couldn’t just let you-”

She stiffened and clutched at her head.

“Griselda?”  He asked in alarm, when he saw tears fill her black eyes.  “What’s wrong?”

“My horn!”  She wailed.  “He broke off my _horn_!” 

Briar blinked at her, and checked the crown of her head.  Sure enough, her right horn was absent, leaving only a craggily stump behind.  The rest of the bone was lying several feet away.  He wondered why he hadn’t noticed before.

“Oh, Briar!”  Griselda sobbed, covering her face.  “Don’t look at me!”

“What?”

Don’t _look_ at her?  After today, he wasn’t letting her out of his _sight_!

“I’m _hideous_!”

“Dorn’t be stup-”

“How am I gonna hunt or protect myself?!”

“Grisel-”

“I’ll be an outcast!”

“That’s not-”

“A laughing stock!”

“Gris-”

“I’m no good to you now!”

“WILL YE SHUT UP?!”

His hands clamped onto her upper arms, and he pulled her up to look him dead in his blazing eyes.

“I dorn’t care abou’ tha’ damn horn!”  He snarled in a voice as serious as a snake bite.  “I care tha’ yer _alive_ , woman!  I should’ve lost, Griselda, but I _didn’t_.  I won because o’ _yoo_.  I killed 'im because I thought ‘e _took_ ye from me!”

The gobliness was obviously too overwhelmed to speak (for once), so he went on:

“Griselda, listen tah me, cuz I worn’t say this often: I luv ye.  I’ve nevar luved anythin’ in this world but _yoo_.  I’d condemn this whole kingdom an’ every last soul in i’ tah thah flames fer ye.  Marry me, Griselda.  Be mah queen.  Spend thah res’ o’ yer life by mah side.  Bear me a child, so our line will endure.  I _worn't_  leave ye behind; I’ll take ye with me on _every_ hunt, an; I’ll _always_ protect ye.  Answer me now, once an’ fer all, will ye be mine an’ _only_ mine, Griselda?”     

It took her a moment to respond through her abrupt onslaught of now _happy_ tears, but when she did, she gave him a playful shove.

“I already agreed to all that, you big dummy!” 

He then grabbed her back, molding her tightly to his body, and kissed her with a powerful, bruising force that stole her breath.  She happily surrendered to him, as pliant as a fresh daisy in his mighty arms. 

“Briar…” She whispered after the kiss ended, and she’d been snuggling against his chest for a bit.

“Yes?”

“You……I……you’ll have to…b-break off my other horn.”

“What?”

“It _has_ to come off, Briar!  I’ll be off-balance, and I’m already getting a huge headache!” 

“I…”

“Please?”

“……Well…a-alrigh’......if ye really need me to.”

He stood, and calmly strode over to where Thunder had dropped the royal scepter by the throne.  As he picked it up and examined the amber stone, he briefly thought about how this made it all official, but he couldn’t dwell on that right now. 

When he returned, Griselda was lying on her back waiting for him.  He carefully planted a foot on the end of her left horn, and lined up the ball of his staff so that the break would be even with the right.

“Hold still.”

She gulped and shut her eyes, and Briar brought the heavy staff down.  The horn came off easily with a loud *SNAP*, and he kneeled to help his mate up off the floor.

“Are ye okay?  How do ye feel?”

“I’ll be fine.”  She assured him with a half-hearted grin.  “I just feel so…… _light_.”

Any teasing reply he was about to make was interrupted by an alarming shriek from the throne room’s entrance.  Both goblins turned to see Briar’s mother, Queen Vinca, staring at Thunder’s carcass in wretched horror. 

One could say that Briar had always felt something akin to pity for his poor mother; the innocent gobliness that was chosen to be the monster’s bride, and sentenced to a life of imprisonment all thanks to a Love Potion.  His whole life, no matter what abuse his father doled out on the _both_ of them, Thunder was nothing but the sun, moon, and stars all morphed into one in Vinca’s dusted eyes.  Her drugged obsession with his father made any and all attention or nurturing Briar needed as a child, usually come from the castle servants.  To her, the highest compliment she’d ever paid him was telling him he looked so much like his father.  She didn’t care about her son.  She didn’t love him.  She’d didn’t know what love was anymore, if she ever did.  Now Briar had destroyed her 'beloved' captor, and she had nothing left.  And, as far as anyone knew, there was no cure for that dreaded potion.

“You!”  She screamed, facing Briar and Griselda with insane loathing.  “You filthy _beast_!  You killed my Thun-hun!  You _murderer_!”

She charged at the pair with an enraged cry, her needle-like teeth bared, and meaty arms thumping her knuckles against the ground.

Briar had no choice.

“Close your eyes, Griselda.”  He lowly instructed, stepping in front of her.

She did as he said, and bit back a whimper of remorse when she thrice heard the squelching whack of Briar’s weapon ending his own mother’s accursed life.  It was woefully unfair, but there was nothing else anyone could do.  She refused to open her eyes again until Briar led her out of the throne room, away from the dead bodies. 

Almost as soon as she did, they saw Thunder’s two aids, Brick and Brack, jogging towards them.

“What’s happened, your highness?”  Brick questioned, albeit unnecessarily, considering the way he was eyeing the scepter.

“Go.”  Briar ordered.  “Spread thah word tha’ thah Thunder King is dead, an’ thah Dark Forest ‘as a new ruler.  The queen is dead as well.  From now on, Griselda is yer new queen.”

“As you command,” Brack bowed with his companion after a pause, “Thunder Pri- I mean…Briar _King_.”

“You’ll have to replace them.” Griselda observed as she watched them go. 

“I know.”

“Have you got anybody in mind?”

“I already promised This an’ That.”

“How fitting.”

“Glad ye like it.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“This is really happening, isn’t it?”  

“I told ye it would.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  She tugged at his arm.  “Come one, we need to go to the healer wing to get you patched up.”

“Can’t it wait?”  He grumbled.

“No, you might have a concussion.”

“Kiss now, concussion later.”

“I’m your queen, and I say no.”

“I’m yer _king_ , an’ I say _yes_!”

“Sorry, I ain’t love-dusted, buster!  You’ll do what _I_ say, _especially_ when your injured.  Move it or lose it!”

As she helped a grouching Briar up the stairs, Griselda felt a wave of anxiousness and uncertainty splash in her gut. 

Queen.

She was _queen_ of the Dark Forest now!  Was she really ready for this level of responsibility?  She was just a simple border bumpkin!  Was she even _smart_ enough to rule a kingdom?  She didn’t know the first thing about politics, other than theory!  She worried so much, she didn’t sleep a wink that night.

But when their wedding/coronation came the next day, and Briar presented her with a hand-made headband of strung-together stone slices, each one cleaned and sanded to match the shade of her horn stubs, she banished her concerns, and trusted that everything would work out for the best, as long as they had each other.

**Author's Note:**

> The significance of the rocks in the headband Briar made for Griselda is this: The rocks will not weaken over time like bone and their combined weight will help make it feel like she still has her horns as well as offer back some protection she lost. 
> 
> Anyway, like I said, this was tough to write because of how violent it got, but I'm still proud of it. It sure was odd writing a Strange Magic fic where the majority of the action centers around two OCs, though. 
> 
> Please leave a kudos or even better, a comment! I love reading them and I always answer them!  
> <3


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